


Wild Thoughts

by zacharybosch



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: (not that mizumono needs fixing because it's my fav episode and i LOVE it), Angst, Dancing, Episode Fix-It: s02e13 Mizumono, M/M, Making Out, Messy Feelings, making out in a car, really struggling to tag this sorry, slightly happier ending tho
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 07:02:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13230465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zacharybosch/pseuds/zacharybosch
Summary: Will leaned back, laid a forceful hand on Hannibal’s shoulder when he tried to follow Will’s retreating lips.“Come and dance with me,” he said, eyes a little too bright.---A Mizumono fix-it in which Hannibal and Will dance at a bar (??? I have no idea either) instead of having that desperately sad last supper





	Wild Thoughts

**Author's Note:**

> soooo i've been working on this for a stupid length of time. huge shout-out to [george michael and his fantastic song fastlove](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SHAQlFq6TFg) which inspired this fic in the first place, and more shouting-out to [rihanna for her* song wild thoughts](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fyaI4-5849w) which gave me the title and also general mood and vibes~
> 
> i honestly never thought i'd write a mizumono fix-it, because mizumono is perfect in every way and my absolute fav episode and does NOT need fixing. but it just kind of happened, so i ran with it. i also tried to include more hannibal-POV in this one, since i seem to never ever write anything from his perspective EVER. i'm still not 100% sure i managed to "get" him, but this fic has been stewing for too long and i needed to just post it already....
> 
> lastly if you would like to listen to the playlist i made to keep my vibes rolling while writing this thing, [it's here on spotify!](https://open.spotify.com/user/11182559597/playlist/6EVCkxdH6KHlK7oiFpcT3x) it's a mix of appropriate lyrics, things for dancing, and ~general mood~, prep your ears for some great pop hits (among other things) and points to anyone who can pick out the lyrics i dropped into the fic
> 
> \--  
> *i know it's by dj khaled but he annoys me so i pretend he doesn't exist

On the night that Hannibal’s world came gently and quietly crashing down around him, Will didn’t stay for dinner. The refusal of the invitation was enough in itself to put Hannibal on edge, sudden and sharp betrayal notwithstanding, but it was made worse by the fact that he’d been so tactile and open prior to his abrupt departure. Will was prone to absent-minded fondling, every item on Hannibal’s desk having been subject to it at some point over the past several months, but this evening there had been a shift in his attentions.

Normally, he went for any substantial, solid thing. Books, the letter opener, some _objet d’art_ that he’d plucked from a shelf. Weighty and grounding and, at a pinch, a passable weapon. Understandable that violence was at the forefront of his mind given the trap he was trying to lay.

But in the last two hours, Will had touched, in no particular order: the fine translucent blinds that hung behind the heavy striped drapes; the edge of a tissue protruding from the box, a barely-there ghosting touch; a drop of dark wine from the delicate crystal rim of the decanter; and once, very briefly, the bone in Hannibal’s wrist, just below his cuff.

The first curl of scent brought with it a fierce and immediate blunting of all other sensory input. For a brief second, all Hannibal could feel was the sick, burnt-out hollow of his chest, which soon turned into a draining ache that threatened to leave all manner of ugly emotions in its wake. The bitter fire of it still scratched at the back of Hannibal’s throat, and the spread of Will’s hands over sheer cloth made it twice as difficult to swallow down. Hannibal could handle righteous fury and the blunt physicality of a fight, but to couch his betrayal in soft and sensuous movements, intimacy hinted at in the trail of his fingers: that was a particular cruelty that only Will could deliver.

Will had come to his door that evening, ruin slicked into the lock of hair that curled over his forehead, and Hannibal had simply admired its lustre in the firelight. And then he had left, devastation in his wake, glancing back over his shoulder with that same ruinous curl offering taunt and temptation. There was some other game Will was playing, some further hook to catch on Hannibal’s flesh and twist in his words.

Wherever Will could lead him, Hannibal would inevitably follow. The admiration for his twisting and duplicitous mind was present and applauding even as his sense of self-preservation urged him to cut and run.

//

Gaudy red neon light, rough brickwork, the heady stench of an alley used for fucking and fighting. The muffled throb of music smothered the low hum of Hannibal’s car as he cruised the parking lot at the alley’s entrance. The Bentley would stand out in all the wrong ways in a place such as this, but Hannibal was nothing if not image-conscious and so he’d opted instead for his BMW, which spoke quietly of a certain wealth and taste that wasn’t necessarily above a back-alley fuck. In all honesty, his choice of vehicle mattered little; if he’d skidded up in leathers on his motorbike, it would’ve been just as ill-advised and reckless. But Will provoked in him ill-advised and reckless ideas, fey moods and wild thoughts.

It was easy enough to tell himself he came looking for any anonymous face just to amuse himself before the inevitable bloody fallout, that he came here of his own volition and not because he followed Will’s carefully laid trail like breadcrumbs through the forest. Easy enough indeed, right up until he saw familiar curls picked out in neon red, the sharp jawline and sweet flesh of his neck fading into shadow. Funny how all his trains of thought seemed to run towards Will these days, even the ones he tried to direct elsewhere.

Will was tired of thinking altogether. Schemes and secrets and lies upon lies and he was so _tired._ He didn’t want to speak any more, because speaking meant deceiving and deceiving meant… something. But Hannibal had always had a talent for drawing words out of Will and setting sparks in his mind; he just had to sit there with his dark eyes and the knowing curve in his lips and Will would be spilling secrets he hadn’t even known he was keeping, laying traps he was only half aware of, luring prey that he already had fixed in his jaws. 

Hannibal pulled up alongside the rear of the bar and lowered his window. Will was leaning against the wall, beer bottle hanging from his low-slung hand, eyes scanning back and forth beneath sweeping lashes. To speak with him, to push the night on to its inevitable conclusion, was to tighten the noose around his own neck. But if this was all Will offered, Hannibal would take it and enjoy it until circumstance forced his hand otherwise.

“Looking for something, Will?”

“Only you.” Will took a long pull from his bottle, and three languorous steps until he was hovering next to Hannibal’s window. “Nice car. BMW. Didn’t know you had one.”

“I prefer not to take the Bentley to back-alley parking lots.”

“Hm. Make a little room for me, will you?”

There wasn’t much privacy to be had in the small parking lot, but it didn’t much matter. Everyone else out here had the same purpose in mind, and they paid no mind to one more anonymous couple seeking their pleasure.

Will had Hannibal in the backseat, crowded up against the door, hand heavy on his thigh. Imploring eyes and bitten lips.

“Will,” Hannibal began.

“Whatever you’re about to say, don’t say it. I just want you to… You know.” Will pushed a little harder against Hannibal’s thigh. “Just for tonight.”

“Will, I--”

“No, I don’t want to hear it. I’m a body. You’re a body. Let’s just do what bodies do.”

“You’re a fool to suggest it, and you make me foolish enough to consider it.”

“Right. I’m a damn fool. So kiss me.” 

Will tasted like beer, and the cold snap of winter night air. Under that, he tasted like Hannibal’s first kill, unrefined and inelegant but intoxicating in its immediacy and vitality, fresh and wild and free. This was a train of thought that he could ride for tonight, to the exclusion of all else. One last hurrah before the inevitable blood between them.

Hannibal was not at all what Will had expected him to be like. On the few occasions he’d allowed himself to think of it, he’d imagined slow kissing, ritualistic lovemaking, a contrived burst of passion near the end as Hannibal constructed the fantasy that whoever he was with, they were the only person in the world who could make him crack his smooth veneer like this. A performance designed with a specific outcome in mind.

In reality, Hannibal was loose and easy. Maybe he was only like this with Will. The car was roomy and he took advantage of it, pulling Will into his lap, rolling their bodies across the seats, limbs outflung and grasping. He laughed, and light flashed off his sharp teeth.

Hannibal’s easy pleasure was a tidal wave, and Will let himself be swept up in it. They kissed like teens on prom night, eager and excited, getting tangled in the layers they tried to shed. It could be that this was just another fiction, one specifically designed with Will in mind, but he touched the bare skin of Hannibal’s collarbone, and the shuddering breath that it drew from him was helpless and immediate.

The back doors of the bar swung open and shut, music leaking out in irregular fits and bursts, thick beats pulsing over words of lust and intoxication. Will wanted to be in there suddenly, awash in coloured light and the heady scent of drink and sweat. He wanted Hannibal in there with him, hands on his hips, feeling the ripple of their bodies together. Music loud enough to drown out the sound of betrayal ringing in his ears.

Will leaned back, laid a forceful hand on Hannibal’s shoulder when he tried to follow Will’s retreating lips. 

“Come and dance with me,” he said, eyes a little too bright.

Hannibal could endure a variety of indignities when circumstance dictated it; his body could run on autopilot to maintain the facade, while his mind retreated elsewhere. He had haunted this bar on an infrequent basis, quiet mid-week nights when he felt the urge to witness the love and ugliness played out by patrons on the dancefloor. It held the same kind of fascination for him as his church collapses, albeit with a slightly haughtier, privately mocking bent; not something he would ever personally deign to be involved in, but compelling to watch and satisfying to ponder over later. 

But Will was painted with light, red-blue-purple-gold, and the crowd, the bar, the music, all melted away. Will was a flighty and difficult creature, so hard to pin down, but here now he was beautiful in his simple, unthinking pleasure. Content to stay, to be held and swayed, to curl his hand around Hannibal’s jaw and kiss him slow and thorough.

Hannibal slid a hand down to Will’s ass, not to grab but just to feel the rocking of his body, the roll of hips not used to dancing. Will took it as an invitation anyway and began to grind, slow and rhythmic and too sweet to last. He broke their kiss only so much as was necessary to whisper damp words against Hannibal’s lips.

“Why are you letting me do this? You know what’s going to happen. I can tell.” Another kiss, because Will was frightened to speak so near to the truth and because Hannibal just couldn’t help himself. “I think of you and I feel out of mind. Do I hurt you the way you hurt me?”

“Every day I see you is a new mark on my skin.”

“You’re not marked yet,” Will breathed, and dragged Hannibal from the dancefloor.

//

The stall was cramped, and more than a little filthy, but Will sank to his knees anyway. He mouthed at Hannibal through layers of fabric, the dampened thrumming from the bar playing counterpoint to the roaring rush in his head. Will had said that he’d never felt as alive as he did when he was killing Hobbs. But this? This was damn close. A hair’s breadth from madness.

Hannibal twined one helpless hand into Will’s hair, the other pressed hard against the slick tile on the wall. The words that pressed against his teeth were all wrong, too vulnerable by far and an ugly glimpse of his tender and yearning flesh, but he let them come forth anyway. 

“We could leave now, tonight.” 

Even as he said it, feeling the first prick of tears that he wouldn’t let fall, Hannibal knew that Will would deny him again. He was in too deep, and too stubborn to take the rope offered him. With the first burn of Freddie Lounds’ scent, Hannibal had understood fairly quickly that he might have to beg Will at some point soon, but he’d never imagined to feel so pathetic while doing it. It was entirely foreign and discomfiting and not at all in line with how he’d imagined such a scenario might feel: the last poignant entreaty from a spurned lover to the cruel object of their affections, the noble sacrifice laying back against the altar.

Instead, he was pressed against a disgusting wall in a public bathroom and Will was going to reject him halfway through sucking his cock.

“Okay,” said Will.

For several long, painful seconds, Hannibal was utterly at a loss. No wise words materialised, no cutting riposte, nothing metaphorical, philosophical, pretentious or plain. When he continued to not say anything, Will rose from his position on the floor, scrubbed the back of his hand across his mouth, and pressed on.

“I… I didn’t kill Freddie. I know you could smell her on me. Randall Tier was the one we ate.”

So many questions firing strobe lights behind his eyes, fueled by white-hot anger and sudden, desperate hope, but when Hannibal finally managed to speak, he said, “The meat tasted frightened. Randall had a pneumatically-powered kill-suit. And you, with your bare hands, you _frightened_ him.”

Will stared intently at the floor, shy or hesitant or still deceitful even now, and huffed a gentle laugh. “I was mad. Annoyed that he smashed my window. Pissed that he hurt Buster.” Taking one step to close the gap between them, he caught Hannibal’s eye beneath the fan of his lashes and said, “I wanted it to be you. I straddled him and beat him to death and imagined it was you.”

Hannibal said nothing, just grasped Will’s hand and ran his thumb back and forth over the faded pink cuts on his knuckles.

“I hit you and you smiled through the blood in your teeth.”

“Will…”

“You want us to leave? Then let’s leave. Fuck it. Fuck _everything._ I’m sick of playing these games. Tired of trying to fit myself around other people’s morality. I want to run away.” He twisted his hand in Hannibal’s grip until their fingers were intertwined. “That’s the truth.”

“The truth still has consequences, Will. You’ve confessed your sins now, but you did all this with an intention to betray me. I can’t forget that. I won’t.”

“Would you believe me if I said that I’ve been split down the middle pretty much since I got out of prison?” Hannibal stared back at him, soft and searching, but said nothing. “No. I’ve cut you too deep already. If you want to punish me, I’ll take it. I probably deserve it. But let’s leave first.”

“What about your dogs?” Hannibal asked, feeling faintly surprised by his own question even as the words left his mouth.

The question caught Will off guard as well. It seemed a peculiar thing for him to ask, Hannibal having given no genuine impression up until now that he cared one bit about anything in Will’s life other than the immediate possession of his mind and body. 

“They’ve been with a neighbour for the last few days. With everything going on, it seemed safer. Especially after Randall… I know they’d be well cared for if I didn’t show up to collect them again.”

_There may be opportunities to get them later,_ Hannibal didn’t say, the idea that there would even be a ‘later’ for them still too tender to give voice to.

“Then let’s go,” he said instead.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on [tumblr!](http://zacharybosch.tumblr.com) so is the post for this fic if you'd like to [give it a cheeky reblog!](http://zacharybosch.tumblr.com/post/169186693879/guess-who-finished-a-fic-this-bitch-its-a)


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